


through all of my lives I never thought I'd wait so long for you

by r1ker



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: please don't hatecrime me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm not sorry and neither are they</p></blockquote>





	through all of my lives I never thought I'd wait so long for you

Lou can't feel anything.

 

That's the only thing he can discern at this point in the night. They've come to get Betsy, carted her away in an ambulance. He had made sure that Hank was there to take Molly away before she could see her mother like that. Hell, Lou was certain he couldn't see her mother like that.

 

He’s sitting in his empty living room now, giving great, big heaving sobs, and the silence that still remains outside of his own cries threatens to drive him mad. She should be there waiting on him to get in from work. Instead she'll be waiting for him in a morgue for their last few seconds together. The thought of her in just a mortician’s sheet makes him tremble; how much lower down could people make her, after all she’s suffered over the last few months?

 

It’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe, feeling like someone’s sitting on his chest with all their might. Night settles in heavily over the darkened house and he can’t find it in him to turn on any light.

 

A knock on the door sounds just as he’s getting ready to stand and go to bed. He pads over to the door to turn on the porch light and spots Hank waiting for him near the window. The door opens just enough to reveal Lou’s face.

 

“You wanna let me in?” Hank asks him and Lou shuts the door to undo the chain. He stands behind the door as it’s opened and Hank walks in carefully. There’s soft thumps as Hank’s work boots hit the carpet and they pass around the room. Lou doesn’t know why Hank’s checking the house for other people, it doesn’t matter much anymore.

 

He comes back to stand in front of Lou. Lou can see his face is softer than it usually is, but he’s disturbed by the fact he hasn’t shed a tear yet. He remembers hearing something about him from guys in the academy. Hardened but not without emotion, something like that. “Lou, I’m so sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry, too,” Lou croaks when he remembers that while he lost a wife and Molly a mother, Hank lost a child. His head falls, chin resting on his chest. “I should have gone with you.”

 

“And what, see your wife off on her way to the morgue?” Hank asks him. Lou raises his head then at Hank’s tone; it’s incredulous. “She’ll be there until Monday evening then we can start making arrangements. I’ve got Molly at the station with some of the folks there; they’ll keep an eye on her for the night so you can relax.”

 

Like not having his best friend there could make him relax any. But he can’t have Molly back in the house yet, not until this is made right. There’s still glass on the ground, juice staining beneath the tiles. He wishes he could scour the house clean of it all, the spill and the spot where her body hit the floor.

 

To do that he’d have to burn this house to the ground where it stood. That’d mean burning down years of memories, bringing back the strain of war, his new wife across the threshold, a new baby home from the hospital. If he did that he’d lose Betsy and all she brought him for good. He loses either way, which seems to be happening a lot lately.

 

Hank is looking at him funny when he comes out of his reverie. “You alright there, Lou?” Lou shakes his head incredulously. He’s so mad with how much his life has changed in the course of a few hours. He can still smell the gunpowder that passed between him and the Gerhardts. It’s thick in his nose alongside the stench adrenaline produces. His stomach roils dangerously and he staggers back to sit down on his couch.

 

His head falls back to his hands. Hank watches his face screw up in tears and falls to his knees before Lou can start crying again.

 

“I loved her,” was all Hank could make of Lou’s anguished cries. “I loved her more than anything, Hank, you have to understand.” Hank has to refrain from saying _me, too_ because in a way he shared Betsy with Lou. That was his only child, the only one God gave him and to think of the turmoil he went through walking her down the aisle to Lou’s waiting embrace threatens to kill him.

 

That doesn’t matter now. It can’t, not if they want to get through this without splitting apart the bond they took months, years to form and strengthen. Hank has him in an embrace before he’s even aware of it. Lou’s clutching his jacket between two strong hands, pulling at him as if he’s the only thing on earth that can ground him right now.

 

He gives in, rests his cheek on the top of Lou’s head where it’s on his shoulder. God, he can feel Lou sobbing, hard, and it seems to hurt the both of them. “I know it, Lou. I know it.” He’ll always give Lou credit for two things – giving Betsy more than any man could ever give her and for Molly. That girl was his life, both their reasons for carrying on after all this.

 

Lou pulls back from him slowly, still struggling to breathe evenly. Hank wipes Lou’s cheek with the back of his hand. He’s surprised when Lou seems to lean into his touch, cheek following after Hank’s hand as it’s drawn back slowly towards his body.. Hank, however, is met with Lou’s forehead against his. The sight of Lou’s bloodshot eyes so close to his face confuses Hank a little.

 

“I’m so tired, Hank,” Lou mumbles. Hank would have to bet he was exhausted; he knows for a fact Lou didn’t get a wink of sleep that was even fulfilling over the last few days, hell, none of the officers on this case could. Hank nods in understanding and puts one hand at the back of Lou’s head. They’re both in too deep now.

 

Lou’s face goes right to Hank’s neck and he sighs. Being this close Hank can smell his cologne, beneath that his skin and the cheap shampoo scent in his hair. It carries through his nose, heady and different. If he didn’t know any better, didn’t know the hell of a situation the two of them are in, he’d swore that was the moment his thoughts towards Lou changed.

 

Lou moves back some and Hank soon feels lips on his neck, the uneven gust of Lou’s exhale. Hank doesn’t know whether to get up and leave, pretend this never happened, or keep on sitting here while his knees scream out in pain just to see what Lou’s all about.

 

He’s glad that soon his mind wants him to choose the last option. Lou starts kissing him, softly at first and then it turns into all out bites, Lou’s teeth digging into Hank’s skin. The escalation from gentle and confusing to all out territorial makes something interesting shiver up Hank’s spine and soon he’s leaning fully onto Lou.

 

They don’t talk. For a few minutes it’s just the quiet sound of Lou’s determined breaths, his hands skating back and forth over Hank’s work shirt beneath his leather coat. Hank decides he ought to make a move too so he starts out with one hand on the back of Lou’s neck, encouraging but in no way signaling him to be doing anything else than what he’s doing right now.

 

Lou pulls back and finally kisses him properly, nearly missing Hank’s mouth in his attempt to make it count. A small noise escapes Lou when Hank curls his fingers around Lou’s jaw, fingertips seeking the hair around his ear. It doesn’t manage to escape Lou’s mouth and is instead swallowed by Hank.

 

Hank is soon running out of breath. They’re frantic now, Lou’s hands shoving away Hank’s coat and Hank the same to Lou’s jacket. The two manage to get up long enough, part ways a little, to move back to the master bedroom. Lou falls back onto the bed, flustered enough to not even debate the fact that he was to be on the receiving end of whatever their little affair happened to be.

 

“Are you sure, Lou?” Hank asks with a bit of a tremble in his voice. Lou nods, damn near feverishly, and Hank goes to him lying on the end of the bed. He’s granted access to Lou’s button-up, undoes the snaps with hands that can’t seem to shake the nervousness that makes them unsteady. Lou’s belly is shaking, exposed under the line of Hank’s eyes on his skin. He takes in a few breaths, in and out, in and out, then Hank kisses them all from his lungs.

 

Lou’s mind is addled, covered with a haze that sometimes makes it hard for him to distinguish where to take this sometimes. Soon he figures it out, inches out of his trousers and leaves them and his boxers balled up at the end of the bed. It’s determined that they’re not going to get any further than rutting up against one another, swapping open-mouthed kisses while Hank’s hands make a mess of the sheets around them.

 

And that’s just fine to Lou. God, it feels great, knowing that someone’s over him and while he’s calling the shots, there’s nothing he can do but also be at their mercy as well. Hank’s done his part in making sure Lou doesn’t feel trapped, hands at either side of Lou’s head. Nothing that Hank’s ever seen before will compare to the look in Lou’s eyes as he comes, untouched, beneath him. Something in him says it’s fear, fear of giving himself over to something like this. Nonetheless it’s breathtaking, enough to make Hank realize that he too is coming on Lou’s thighs. He’s gasping, both from the sight of Lou beneath him and the overwhelming pressure lifted off of him as he’s coming.

 

After, Hank rolls to Lou’s right side and lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His mind is still fuzzy, feeling like it’s up in the air and not working alongside his brain. Lou’s still dangerously quiet even though he’s heaving for breath. Soon those deep gulps of air turn to something more stilted and his eyes, Hank can see when he turns his head to the side, are filling back up with tears.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lou mumbles, blinking at Hank with wet eyes. Hank shakes his head as if to dismiss Lou’s unnecessary apology and pulls him back into his arms. There they lie for the rest of the night, Lou in and out of sleep in favor of letting tears fall from his eyes, and Hank will decide in the morning what to make of this.

 

_

 

The first time it happens, Lou’s in the academy.

 

He and a bunch of the other guys in the class are cleaning up after a day of training, clamoring throughout the locker room in an effort to get dressed quickly so they can go home. Lou lingers by his locker, still in his undershirt and boxers. Even at 20 years old he’s still shy to get dressed in front of other guys. Needless to say P.E. was a struggle for him growing up. He’d figure he’d grow out of it.

 

He doesn’t.

 

A few eye him curiously as they shut the doors to their lockers and head out the door. He shakes his head mindlessly at their puzzling glances. Finally it’s just him and another cadet; guy’s name is Sam he thinks, sitting on opposite ends of the room.

 

“Too shy, are ya?” Sam asks him and Lou goes wide-eyed. Sam watches him swallow heavily and stand up, turn his back to him.

 

Nervously Lou tiptoes to stand at the corner of a set of lockers and pulls down his boxers to change them, already has the clean ones at the ready to hurriedly hop into.

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t look.” Lou sticks his head out from behind the lockers and sees Sam with both hands over his eyes. He thinks it’s childish but he takes his word for it and is soon standing back in front of his locker freshly dressed. “You go through the academy twice, you get to see a lot of guys. It’s not so bewildering after a while.”

 

“People shouldn’t see me like that,” Lou offers in the smallest voice he’s ever heard himself use. He’s right. It’s stuff like that that makes him feel like he’s nothing. He’ll never understand why the academy couldn’t spare the money to get the guys separate rooms to change.

 

“Why do you say that?” Sam asks while rummaging through his own locker. Lou can think of a lot of reasons as to why he’d say something like that. He’s never particularly liked the way he looked; there’s always something he could find to make better about himself.

 

Sure, most of it was superficial in society’s eye and he felt like he had no right to complain about having a belly while men he was raised around came back from war without hands, feet, arms, or legs. But still it nagged him, as he got dressed for training each morning. It was like a race to pull on all his gear so he couldn’t look at himself anymore.

 

“Just don’t care for the way I look, that’s all,” Lou remarks during an effort to rescue one shoe that’s found its way to the center of the empty space beneath the bench he sits on. His words, though having been said so many times to himself before, once spoken aloud, make a lump sit heavy in his throat.

 

“Ah, come on, Solverson,” Sam wheedles. Lou watches him, from the corner of his eye, get up from his seat and begin the stride towards him. “Come on up here, stand up.” For some reason he’ll never figure out, Lou obliges. He stands up as straight as he can in front of Sam, still lacking in the height department by about an inch or so even while barefoot.

 

Mindlessly he sucks in the gut he thinks he has. Jokingly Sam puts the back of his hand to Lou’s belly to get him to relax. “You do know that thing contains all your organs, right? What if they didn’t have something to cushion them? You’d be stumbling around here looking like hell, that’s what, all strung out and weak.” He pauses, one hand moving up to rest on the slope of Lou’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. Being a trooper’s going to be most of your worries anyhow.”

 

Lou nods but lets his head hang a little. Not a lot of people in his life let him feel good about the way he was. His mom did, sure, that was her job, but his dad sort of neglected to let him know he was just as efficient of a man than he himself was. It was something he got used to growing up but now, hearing someone he’s not related to validate his looks, felt nice.

 

“Thanks, Sam,” he offers quietly with his head still hanging down. Jesus, he can’t believe he’s acting like this but something’s different. “I like the way you look. I bet you work out a ton, don’t you?” Sam laughs at the flattery. He hasn’t touched the workout gear in the gym in months; he pulled a pretty big muscle while on the training course and was set back as a result. Anything that happens to look toned on his body is just a miracle, if you had to ask him.

 

“If only I could,” Sam smiles at him. Lou decides he likes the way that expression fits Sam. Sam’s a little older than he is, three or four years at the most, and he’s got these blue eyes wizened by what Lou can only hope is a great deal of experience earned by having to go through the academy for the second time.

 

Lou kisses him then, he can’t not, and once he feels Sam stiffen he regrets every single word and action exchanged between the two of them on this night. But then, for whatever reason, Sam relaxes and puts one hand on the side of Lou’s neck. The urge to go to his knees, see what Sam’s all about, flood Lou’s senses and soon that’s what his entire mind wants him to do. He hasn’t done it before but today’s no greater time than ever to learn how.

 

Sam watches him slowly kneel and tilt his head up. His eyes are wide, a little bewildered by Lou’s eagerness. “Are you sure?” Lou looks at him with eyes glistening by the flickering yellow light bulb above the two of them. Using that, Sam eases his fly down with one shaking hand. Lou sees his nervousness and puts his hand on top to steady his.

The smell of Sam is incredible and it threatens to knock Lou off of his precarious crouch in front of him. He’s all man; cheap bar soap provided by the academy and some sort of expensive cologne Lou can only hope was a gift and not the last bullet to the head of his bank account flood his nose.

 

Lou’s got his mouth on Sam’s cock shortly thereafter. Sam makes a strangled gasp and buries one hand in Lou’s hair for balance. It doesn’t take long for Lou to get the technique down; he goes by what he thinks he would like if he were in this situation. He hides his teeth, lets his tongue slip down the underside of Sam’s cock.

 

“Oh, God, Lou, that’s good,” Sam groans out and Lou looks up at him, still with most of his dick in his mouth. For all the good it seems to be giving the two of them at the moment, Lou’s lungs burn for air. He tries to take in a strangled breath through his nose but the dick in his mouth makes it hard to get a good feel for a deep intake of air. Breathing doesn’t seem like anything important at the moment so he just goes for quick gasps between sucks.

 

Sam’s grip on Lou’s hair grows hurried after a few short minutes. He pulls and pulls in an effort to get Lou to pull off before he comes in his mouth but Lou refuses, dares to suck harder.

 

_

 

Hank likes having him underneath him like this.

 

Lou's near trembling where he's on the mattress, flat on his back with his knees drawn up to his chest. While his rib cage is heaving, lungs within it searching for air when none of it seems to be found in the heat they both have made in the bedroom, the rest of him possesses a fine shake, a minute tremor that rocks through him. Hank doesn't even bother to touch him anymore, save for two hands keeping Lou's thighs anchored apart to reveal him, but still Lou can't control himself.

 

"Please," he finally murmurs, damn near pleads when Hank when the tryst forming between them has yet to border on frantic. It's just been drawn out, more so than Lou's used to, and the sensitivity threatens to do him in before the orgasm does. That's been on the horizon for a long while now, building and building then tapering off just as Hank moves in a certain way to stave it off. It drives Lou nuts but he makes do, because there's nothing he'd rather be doing right now.

 

Hank doesn't say anything to his plea, can't come up with anything that would satisfy the need Hank controls now, so he does what he knows how to do best, bends back down to mouth along the fine taper of Lou's thighs slowly, edging in teeth where he can. He's always appreciated Lou's scent, knows that Betsy's behind the bath soaps and colognes that give him that fine smell, but then it hits him with how Lou really smells – all man – and it could take his breath away with nothing else.

 

So there's that and the taste of his skin, the gentle give of his flesh and the odd sort of way his hips crook into his body, that area is never neglected, and he's so far into his ministrations that he can barely hear the sound of Lou's whimpers drifting out into the air. They're almost pained with how frequently they come to hit Hank's ears but he likes it, can't bring himself to let back long enough to make sure Lou's still alright with this all.

 

He puts more into his efforts, bites instead of teases, the fine grain of his teeth causing welts to rise on the delicacy of Lou's skin. Lou's cries gain in intensity, in pitch, when Hank gets a little too rough in some places. He can't help being a little heavy handed, knowing that he can't seem to get enough of Lou though he's got him all for himself drives it.

 

Hank is stealthy enough, even if he teases himself on not being faster at this point in his life, to pick up on one of Lou's hands reaching down just above Hank's head to try and jerk himself off. Hank slaps it away, doesn't want that sort of thing getting in the way with what he has in mind for Lou tonight. Lou bites back a disappointed groan and flattens back out, the heel of his right foot tapping against the bed.

 

There's no way he can avoid paying attention to the swell of Lou's ass – it's a good one, perhaps the best he's seen in a long time, so he bites the curve of it where it goes into the line of Lou's leg. The yelp that leaves Lou makes Hank chuckle low, mouth still to his skin. He continues to bite, worry the skin beneath his teeth. Lou's hands, previously dormant at his side, nestle on the top of Hank's head, in his hair, gripping firmly but making no move to urge or push away.

 

Hank noses at one of Lou's legs, urges it up and away from his body to grant him access to Lou's hole, and sighs against Lou's skin, kisses him there one last time before biting back up the underside of Lou's leg. He's not going to give Lou the satisfaction of eating him out just yet – there's still work to be done before that can happen – but he will tease him within an inch of his life. While he may be perceived as strange for doing that, the sights and sounds Lou produces just being who he is, being like this, is all he can hope for.

 

"Hank, I'm going to kill you," Lou groans when Hank just won't _stop_ , won't stop letting his mouth run over Lou in the most lascivious way. Hank chuckles because it can't be said enough that Lou's a mess like this as well, and keeps on doing what could get him his own death at Lou's hands.

 

Lou finally gets his fill, pulls Hank up by tugging at the hair on the top of his head hard enough to make Hank wince. The kiss Hank's met with is more than enough to serve as an apology and he too loses himself in it like Lou has, lets Lou's hands roam when they haven't at all so far. Lou's touch is softer than he feels he's deserved for all he's done to him in this bed but he can't stop feeling every sensation the pads of Lou's fingers bring forth in their wake.

 

Lou pulls him down to rest more on top of him, wraps his legs around Hank's waist. Hank will have to settle for letting Lou shove off against him – there's no way he's getting out of Lou's tight grip this time, his strength eclipses any plans Hank might have had earlier as to how this was going to play out. Not like it's the lesser of two evils, it feels just as good as the times they'd done it before.

 

Lou comes with his mouth close to Hank's ear, so the gasp that leaves it goes first to Hank and not to the air around them. The warmth that spreads where they're brought together by their own forces sets Hank off not five seconds later and he too makes his own noise of satisfaction, a groan hidden where Lou's hair disappears to curl behind his ear.

 

Evidently they have to part to start to gather each other again. Lou flops onto his belly like he has nothing better to do, watches Hank heave lying on his back on the mattress. The way his face is tilted half into the mattress is uncharacteristically teasing for how easily he was able to flip the situation into his favor. Hank answers that when he can move without his heart racing dangerously, kissing Lou on the top of his head and departing for the bathroom.

 

_

 

Waking up next to someone who isn’t Betsy is strange.

 

There’s no delicacy in the distribution of height and weight across the expanse of the bed. Lou knows right away that she’s not with him but eases when he remembers it’s Hank, it was he and Hank together on this very same bed the night before. Thoughts of that union flash in front of his mind when he closes his eyes briefly to reflect, and for a second it’s like Hank’s hands are back on him again.

 

Once Lou regains the feeling in his numb hands, blinking away the sleep from his weary eyes and stretching as best as he can beneath the sheets, he can feel Hank’s face pressing against his bare arm. His nose is warm against Lou’s arm that’s been blasted cold by the rapidly oscillating ceiling fan overhead. All the rest of himself that he can feel in his semi-awake state is ice cold and he shivers in response. Hank senses it and brings up an arm to sling heavy over Lou.

 

Lou stiffens but relaxes once he realizes the weight’s comforting, the feeling of someone else’s touch doing a great deal to relax him. He watches Hank sleep for a few minutes, hesitating but soon giving in to touching the man’s face and the soft bristle of his beard. Hank doesn’t flinch when Lou’s hands cradle his jaw, pads of Lou’s fingers stroking gently over his face.

 

“Your hands are cold,” Hank mumbles with his eyes still closed. The sound of his voice, sleepy but worn at the edges, makes Lou huff out a laugh. He does take his hands away and rubs them together for a few seconds, quick and thorough friction working to warm up the palms, and then he puts them on Hank’s shoulders for a change. “There, much better.”

 

Hank sighs and scoots down further in the bed but closer to Lou’s side. Lou welcomes him in to rest against his ribcage by raising one of his arms and then Hank flocks to him. They’re lying comfortably together for several minutes when Hank tips his head up to look at Lou.

 

“You okay?” he asks softly with a voice Lou’s never heard him take, understanding and concerned but with more affection than he anticipated. Aside from the fact that he sounds different than he has in days past, Lou can’t find a way to answer that question honestly.

 

Looking as much into himself as he can at what appears to be daybreak, he finds that he’s empty feeling, tired but in a different way that’s not like how he’d feel after a day of work. It’s like someone’s hollowed him out and, while leaving him with his organs and whatnot, has taken everything else from him that gave him sensation.

 

“Not really but I’ll manage,” Lou answers with not a great deal of confidence behind his words. He wouldn’t be upset if he went back to sleep just like this, with Hank at his side instead of an empty, cold bed. There’s enough lingering exhaustion in his body to make that idea entirely plausible. He leaves that aside in favor of returning Hank’s glance, soon going skittish once Hank presses his lips to Lou’s.

 

Lou returns the gesture a bit more eagerly than he had anticipated, inching down to where Hank isn’t having to crane his neck up to kiss him. Then Hank deepens it, uses one hand at the back of Lou’s head for leverage. Lou feels something in him turn urgent and it’s not long until Hank’s tipping his head back with one large hand curling in the sleep-tangled hair at his nape, delving down to rest his mouth against the skin of Lou’s neck.

 

“Oh god, Hank,” Lou breathes when the kisses being sucked to his skin become more edged with the soft scrape of teeth. Lou’s unhindered gasps serve only to fuel Hank, whose hands are moving the sheets and nightclothes away from Lou’s body in an effort to gain more contact. He sighs when Hank’s mouth comes back to meet his, rolling onto his back to allow Hank to move over him in one fluid motion.

 

Hank’s hands move further down and grip Lou’s hips, thumbs digging into the soft give where they join Lou’s body. When Hank’s eyes come back to meet his Lou gives him silent permission to finish what he’s started, extinguish the fire eddying in his blood, seek completion. Hank nods, worn and firm hand wrapping around Lou’s cock with unbridled confidence, working fingertips down the length in a way that makes goosebumps pebble Lou’s thighs.

 

Lou leans back more into his pillow and gives himself over to the feeling of Hank’s hand moving on him. It’s strange – he and Betsy never did this sort of thing – but he can safely say it’s better than doing it to himself every morning in the shower, almost on autopilot with the hot spray of the shower beating on the top of his head as he jerked himself off. Hank’s hand is a great deal better than his own, calloused fingertips catching on all the right parts of his flesh as it slides down and against the grain of his skin.

 

Breathing quickens and Lou wishes he could stop the embarrassing moan that slips out of him as he comes all too soon, only a few minutes into it with a hand against his mouth to stifle the sound. Christ it almost sounds like a sob when it leaves him, nerves on fire with pleasure in places he never knew could have such a thing.

 

He watches Hank angle his jaw up, raising his hand up to catch the drip of come as it travels from the spaces between his fingers down the concavity of his palm. Hank doesn’t take it in eagerly by any means, takes his time savoring the taste of Lou from his skin. Once he finishes, sighing once the last few drops of it are down his throat, he leans back in with his mouth pressed to Lou’s.

 

Lou opens up all too eagerly for what he’s thought of himself. Something about this is intoxicating, different in a way that wants him to learn more about it, find out just what he can give and receive in return.

 

He wishes he could reciprocate, make Hank feel the same way he made him feel, but he’s so tired. All he can do is let Hank rut against his thigh, a quick affair made of nothing but Hank’s hips shoving at his leg impatiently, until Hank too succumbs. The noise he makes when he does so is a peculiar music to Lou’s ears, satisfied and overwrought with pleasure all at the same time. He slumps down where he’s lying on Lou’s chest, and Lou indulges him with lazy passes of his lips not quite put together enough to be kisses.

 

For now, the attention, devotion is enough to tamp down the echo in his chest loss is causing.

 

_

 

After patrol he and Hank end up in the locker room at the precinct together, Lou stripping off his gear just as soon as he’s crossed the threshold into the room. His jacket gets thrown onto an empty bench, his belt with his gun holster slung to the floor below it. Soon it’s his boots and tube socks sliding to rest next to the belt, angrily shed like the other pieces of clothing.

 

Lou’s pent up about a good number of things, among them being the fact it’s three in the morning and he’s getting done with work about eight hours past his time, but mostly he’s tired.

 

He’s at that stage in exhaustion where you’re so mad you can’t sleep right there wherever you happen to be, and he wishes it was over. He wants to go home, forgo a shower because it’s one of those many things tiredness makes you want to put off until the morning, and crawl into a very enticing bed next to Betsy.

 

Something in him develops and makes him think that he won’t be doing that just yet if Hank continues to loom behind him like he’s doing. Hank’s still dressed, now just in a white undershirt and his trousers, and puts his things in his locker blindly when he turns to look at Lou.

 

“Can I help you?” he snaps when Hank still regards him with a worried gaze. Hank shakes his head and takes a few steps closer. Lou huffs out a breath that’s made of several things and edges back to match each step forward Hank takes until he feels his back hit a bank of lockers with a huff of air. “Hank, I just want to go home and sleep so I can be right back here in five hours.”

 

“I know,” Hank says like he really is aware of it all, and puts his hands on Lou’s tense shoulders. Lou tries not to adjust to the weight of his hands, tries to wriggle his way out from under them like they’re not doing wonders easing the anger out from him. “You ought to not go home so worked up, just in case Betsy’s up and waiting for you. Take it easy then get on the road, yeah?”

 

Lou nods his head only to ease Hank and sits back on the bench. He has his head tipped up to the ceiling, eyes closed, and a slow stream of air leaves his nose in a futile attempt at self-meditation. Again Hank works on invading his personal space, stepping close to where Lou has his knees angled out, and puts his first three fingers on the strong jut of Lou’s jaw.

 

Eyes open slowly and the way Lou looks to Hank almost appears defiant, adverse to the contact but accepting it anyway as a sign of Hank’s upper hand on him by standing versus sitting. Finally, Lou completely submits to Hank’s insistence and rests his forehead on Hank’s belly. With that comes a set of fingers in his hair rubbing quite pleasantly at his scalp, trailing down the sides of his head to curl around the shell of his ear. He breathes out without even knowing he had previously drawn air in.

 

“You being this young, shouldn’t be this pent up,” Hank murmurs and again Lou tips his head forward in agreement. He wishes he could live a stress-free life, but that’s a set of words that has never paired quite well with being a Minnesota state trooper, father, husband, and now spiritual advisor to the exiled Blumquists.

 

When he thinks about Ed and Peggy, how they turned down his advice bluntly and sent him away thinking they were capable of subsisting in the eye of the storm known as the Gerhardt crime family, his shoulders lock up again. Hank’s hands move down to roll that stress away, palms and tips of fingers moving together fluidly. “Lie back here, I’ll make you feel good.”

 

Lou will ask himself later why he reclines on a bench that’s held its fair share of unsavory, overworked police officers over God knows how many years in the locker room, but he does. And when Hank bends down, presses his lips to Lou’s for perhaps not the first time that they’ve been together on the job these last few weeks, he decides to add that to the list of whys he’s made for himself.

 

Hank makes quick work of the rest of Lou’s clothing, easing him out of boxers and a soft t-shirt and running his palms greedily up Lou’s defined chest. Lou sighs and leans into his touch every chance he gets to brush up against Hank. He most certainly wishes he could save the feeling of Hank’s mouth on his neck, his collarbones and the slope of his shoulder forever, the slip of his teeth and lower lip making him shudder.

 

The heart racing in Lou’s chest almost makes him nauseous with just how sudden it kicks up the pace and works to fill his skin and cock with blood almost on overtime. Hank takes note and kisses Lou’s belly once, twice then noses at the rasp of pubic hair collecting around Lou’s belly button. The game is almost over when Hank’s breath, the tip of his nose ghosts over the head of Lou’s cock.

 

Lou moans when his hand finally catches a hint and nestles into the hair at the crown of Hank’s head. _Daddy_ isn’t what he wants to say but he does, breathing it out into the heating air around them like it’s an afterthought. Hank’s ears flush red and he’s blessed he’s busy on the south end of Lou rather than seeing what’s going on in the north.

 

“You,” Hank lets out softly, kissing again at Lou’s cock, “are the only one I’m gonna let call me that. You’ve earned it.” Lou quivers at the tone Hank’s words take on; the words, coming from him, sound completely new and indulgent to who he knows Lou really is, someone in need of being overcome.

 

Hank steadies his hands on Lou’s thighs when they start to shake beneath Hank’s ministrations. He can tell just from a glance that Lou is already close, cock flushed red all the way down and almost unbearably hot to the touch. What he’s done before has shown to work so he returns to it, this time adding his tongue around the veins that rise quickly beneath Lou’s foreskin.

Lou cries out loudly when Hank’s mouth settles fully on him, not moving but remaining stationary exactly where Lou’s the most sensitive. It’s mostly a wordless sob, overwhelmed and on his way to being completely ruined by the climax he feels settling on the horizon.

 

“Oh god, Daddy,” he’s huffing out as he comes on Hank, not yet knowing that his release settles on Hank’s cheek and lower lip. Hank takes it all in stride, letting Lou finish completely before he gets to work wiping it from his skin with the back of his hand. He won’t let this go to waste, the result of the effects he’s had on Lou tonight, and takes down the come with a few subtle swipes of his tongue.

 

When he opens his eyes he wasn’t sure he had closed he sees Lou still struggling to regain his breath. He moves up and decides to take away whatever’s collected in Lou’s lungs with a strong kiss, Lou’s tongue slipping in alongside is to taste himself on Hank’s. He groans gently when he does and the only reason he pulls away is to satisfy the growing crick in his neck.

 

“Thank you,” he sighs as their mouths pull apart with a soft sound. “Thank you so much, I… I needed that.”

 

“I know you did,” Hank says matter-of-fact. He’s known Lou long enough to find his needs and satisfy them as he sees fit. “You just didn’t know you needed that, that’s all.” He presses a kiss to several places on Lou, his neck then his temple as tokens of affections rather than symbols of arousal.

 

_

 

To be fair sharing a hotel room was meant to cut down on the costs.

 

Lou tries to remind himself of that as he sits rigid on the double bed allotted to he and Hank by the annoyed front desk attendant of this hotel. He's not undressed even in light of the late hour. Despite knowing that they'll be up in a few hours, he doesn't want to turn his back to Hank. Well, he's doing that currently, Hank behind him in the adjoining bathroom, the shower running behind the closed door.

 

Lou rises from the bed and worries himself with setting aside their clothes for the next morning. Dress shirts, undershirts, ties and trousers, all of it gets laid out in neat, respective piles on the credenza bearing a small, dusty black and white television. He even goes as far as to line up their shoes against the lower drawer, heels pressed tight against the wood. Anything to keep him from hopelessly thinking about the man in the bathroom in the way that's plagued his mind for the last few weeks.

 

Doesn't go away even as Hank emerges from the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his middle, another slung around his wet shoulders. Lou moves back to the bed and makes it look like he wasn't flitting around aimlessly. He gets as far as taking off his socks when he stops to take in a deep breath, one meant to stop the fluttering of his heartbeat. What he takes in is the smell of cheap bar soap, with it shampoo, and knows now that Hank is much closer than he was before.

 

Hank's thigh, covered by the towel, presses against his. Lou looks up and finds Hank regarding him up and down, confused genuinely by the drastic difference in the other's attire. "You going to get dressed for bed or just stay at the ready all night?" His eyebrows raise when Lou doesn't respond or move at all that would indicate taking the advice. Hank, with that, reaches over to tug at the knot near Lou's throat, keeping his tie mostly in place. Lou nearly stops breathing, knuckles nudging against him.

 

"Easy, there," Hank says quietly, divesting Lou of the tie and the first button to his dress shirt. Lou has no clue how he could ever take it easy feeling Hank go at him so gently, down his chest, each button leaving its hole with great and focused finesse. His hands rest uselessly at his side, inching up against the bedspread but not moving to touch Hank's wrist, his easy hand.

 

Hank pulls the tie from Lou's collar and lets it slip out of his hand and onto the floor, not for a second taking heed that it's meant to last Lou for at least another day before he can get another. He looks Lou over, figuring that he can take care of the rest himself before it becomes all too aware Lou can't on account of the stun put on him by way of the little tie gesture. So, Hank helps as best as he can. Yanking the shirttails out of Lou's waistband he lets his palm settle low, below Lou's belly button, before helping the shirt off the rest of the way.

 

Lou will never figure out how and why his arms go along with Hank helping him out of the shirt. All he does know is that he shivers, pebbles from the forearms down with goosebumps next for two reasons – the chill of the air on account of the winter night, and Hank's unyielding stare on him. So he leans forward and lets the bunched up shirt sleeves roll backwards onto the bed, and he stands.

 

He undoes his belt with only the slightest tremor riddling his motions. It's not difficult at all, fitting him looser in past weeks than before, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull thud, a metallic clang as the buckle lands first. The pants then slide down his legs with a rasp then gather at his bare feet. With them Lou hesitates before shoving his underwear down, past his knees, now at his ankles just above the trousers.

 

He looks up at Hank. Hoping the rubbernecking will come to an end early so that he may seek the warmth of the shower rather than the blistering cold that's coming into this drafty hotel room, he only blinks in response. Hank looks like he's ready to strike. His hands hover just above where they were resting on top of his thighs.

 

Lou decides to just give into it, seeing as how they've got nowhere to go but to that point of undeniable closeness. He lets Hank stand, huddle up close to him, put hands on the small of Lou's back and the nape of his neck and arrange him just so that Hank can kiss him free of obstacles. Speaking of the kissing it's a pretty big deal to him seeing as how the most intimate he and Hank had gotten in the past was the hugs after something momentous.

 

This is momentous. No hugging happening here. Or maybe it was as Lou melts against him, hand against Hank's shoulder as the towel is immediately forgotten below them. The two press together at all ends, one of Hank's legs moving between Lou's, feet shuffling softly against the floor. The carefully formed stances they both take up trying to get closer eventually crumble when Hank kisses him a little too hard for it to be chaste.

 

In the end Lou ends up on his back on the bed they ought to be sleeping in. Hank keeps on kissing him, hand gripping Lou by the throat to urge his mouth to open further. Lou does, wouldn't think for a second to go against this out of fear it's all a carefully constructed fantasy. He tries to give back as good as he's getting, biting Hank's lip when he grows tired of lying pliant beneath him. That earns him a grunt, a hand rubbing against the side of his head, messing up hair long since in need of a wash.

 

After a minute Lou is the one to pull back. He can't breathe, any air in the room seemingly unfit to take in. That's taken from him further when Hank's hands keep trailing over his chest. He looks up only to find Hank going along with how his hands are roaming. The glance he gives him is one he doesn't mean to come off as pleading as it feels but it does, and Hank kisses him again for his troubles, keeps one hand over where Lou's heart thuds in his chest.

 

"I was waiting on you to get out of the bathroom, just so you know," Lou intones, bringing back the initial reason why he was sitting in repose earlier. Hank snickers, kisses him again, lets his mouth trail under Lou's jaw and down the side of his neck. The brief respite distracts Lou long enough for Hank to get his hand around Lou's cock. "Oh, you don't have to, I can –" Not that Lou's proposing sneaking back to the bathroom to finish himself off, brain still clinging to the thought of having Hank's attention in the way he's wanted it. It's just that – he doesn't need the end if the beginning wasn't entirely intentional, rather situational in that they both are alone. Both have needs, one maybe more so than the other who feels the need to indulge.

 

Hank doesn't let up. He strokes base to tip, fingers sometimes trailing over the inside of Lou's thighs. Lou can hear him talking, knows some of it's meaningless and said in the throes of passion, but has an inkling of suspicion that much of it is heartfelt. And maybe that's the worst part of it all, knowing that someone can be so focused and so intent and still love you despite the triviality of it.

 

What he does say that is perhaps the most purposeful in that it seems to be derived right from the heart, is a murmur of _gorgeous_ that sets Lou off the second it registers with his foggy mind. He groans as he comes, back rising in a neat but leveled arch. Hank works him through the height of it with nimble fingers never losing sight of their goal even as Lou whimpers during his orgasm.

 

It's over just as soon as it's begun. Lou gets out from under him so that he may inhale openly, gasping in air deep, still a little shaky but tactful enough to maneuver himself onto the bed properly. Hank soon follows with an undershirt in his hand, cleaning Lou off then tossing it back onto the floor. From there they both settle into the bed, Lou on his side with Hank not far behind him with that leg slipped between Lou's once more.

 

_

 

They don't drive around a lot at night. Most of the time they're done with their duties within the confines of conventional working hours, but as for tonight, the state's called for ramped-up security on the roads.

 

So they pile into Lou's patrol vehicle (much more menacing, Fargo PD vs. Minnesota state trooper as far as cars) and go back and forth on back roads. They merge onto interstates, change lanes for the hell of it. As they expect in those first few hours, not much appears to be out of the ordinary. The hour pushes eleven when they are just getting started on the roads, and the few that have been stuck with the graveyard shift have since gone into their buildings and offices to begin the long haul.

 

Hank volunteers to be the first to drive. He's perhaps the most alert of the two, having taken the short period of time between this patrol and his first to drink enough coffee for the both of them. Next to him in the passenger seat is Lou, who listlessly tries to keep up with the dazzling lights of the night as they go. From time to time he yawns, even trying to sleep with his head pressed against the window but failing when bumps in the asphalt cause more pain than comfort.

 

Hands switch position on the steering wheel, one leaving the worn grooves to dial up the heat, as if it weren't pushing high already. "You can go to sleep if you want," Hank advises. Lou tilts his head towards him and blinks once, slowly, acknowledging but not processing. The onslaught of heat from the vents and the gentle sway of the car as the cruise control comes on are dangerously close to doing him in for good.

 

"You're making it real hard to fake being awake with all you're doing," Lou grumbles, words not quite rounded enough to come off as serious. In the end, a few of them get slurred into the soft side of the passenger seat. He rolls his shoulders against the back and lets his legs go rigid for just a second before he relaxes once again.

 

One exit sends them wandering towards a rare red light. In the brief respite in traffic Hank reaches over, pulls on a lever to let Lou's seat recline. Foot firmly on the brake he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over Lou's sleeping form, allowing the warm leather to settle high on his chest and shoulders. The light turns green, and he takes them both on further into the night.

 

After a while he gets sick of wandering around and wasting gas. Hank lets the car roll into the cul-de-sac of a sparsely populated neighborhood and parks it as far as he can get it from the mouth of the road. Seeing as how where they're at is nowhere near where the Gerhardts and their associates need be concerned with, he wouldn't be at fault letting this patrol wind down before its time.

 

For now he watches Lou sleep. When that's not enough to keep him awake he makes sure the car is idling securely enough, the heat low for comfort and gas conservation, he falls asleep. Only when he's slipped off is he woken up by an urgent gesture, a whispered, _Hank, get up._ Someone's pressing at him, insistent in the way they shake his shoulder. A car looks to have been wandering around on the street behind them long enough to raise Lou's hackles.

 

Hank forces himself to wake up and turns the key in the ignition as far to the right as it'll go, throws the gear into reverse and with one hand braced on the headrest of Lou's seat he gets them out and away from their previous resting place. The car follows them. A speed increase, a lane change, and they're still neck and neck down this weathered highway. It takes a little while to lead them on a goose chase disorienting enough to send them barreling towards an abandoned gas station and not back on the highway, but Hank's done this long enough to know the game plan.

 

When they're free and clear of any possible intrusion on the beat they decide to get back on the road. By now the night is thick, so dark that even the high beams of the car's headlights won't do the job in penetrating the cover. Lou awakens slowly in the passenger seat. He begins looking at Hank with guarded expectations, so much so that Hank speaks up for the first time in several minutes with, "What?"

 

"There's a real chance they could get us, and get us good," Lou says, his words preceding the ones before them with an air of poignant realization. Hank knows these kinds of people, the ones to talk a big game, send their cronies out on the street after two cops rather than the enemies that pose a real and insistent threat to their goals. "I didn't recognize that car right off the bat but I'd not be wrong if it turned out to be one of the Gerhardts'."

 

"Knowing who's running this town it most likely is," Hank responds. "That's not to say we won't take them down like any other criminals. I'll go after them, and you will too, until every last one has no choice but to come when they're called for." Despite his hearing still being hampered by the pounding of adrenaline from seeing the car Lou can tell that Hank's through playing around with this situation of the Gerhardts, and he can't blame him. "And, in the process, they come after you, or Betsy, or Molly, I'll destroy them like the last thirty years of being on the job were only practice."

 

Lou stares at him like the car they're in is taking them to those very same people who question the stability of their lives in Fargo. "Pull the car over, Hank." He's obeyed without much questioning or fault. It's not hard at all for Hank to follow direction, despite having been the one giving it in other circumstances. Hank parks the car and barely has time to ease his chair back to better look at Lou before he's met with a mouthful, a lapful of him.

 

Hands help Lou over the console, the gear shift by way of an unyielding grip on his elbows. He ends up kneeing off the seat belt, Hank's jacket where it previously laid on him, so that he may take his place in Hank's lap, mouth opening up under his. It's so insistent, so unlike Lou that Hank has to stop him with his hand on Hank's belt buckle. "Stop, what's the hurry?" Lou blinks at him, near incredulous but fights off the bump in the road and again covers Hank's mouth with his own.

 

There's nothing for Hank to argue about at this point. Lou fits so nicely in his lap, knees anchored around Hank's sides, grinding against him slow as they work out of any immediate, heavy layers they won't ever need. Close together Hank finds out more about the minutiae of Lou's body, the freckles on the back of his neck, the resounding shudder when Hank thumbs behind his ears. As they kiss Hank can taste the sleep on his breath, the scent of aftershave wafting down Lou's neck, feel humming against his lips the groan Lou lets escape when Hank sinks down a little with his teeth.

 

He's practically boiling when he watches Lou stick three of Hank's fingers in his mouth, turn his head away a little so that he can focus, Hank's arm going with him. Once they're deemed sufficient Hank can only watch in stupor as Lou takes charge, yanks down his pants enough so that Hank can prep him. The only reason he keeps on, working Lou open with blunt and clueless fingers is that the noises Lou's making are too lascivious to have stop.

 

Soon, he's pushing in, letting Lou kiss him as he becomes the one to work himself onto Hank's dick. The space is almost too cramped to let it be done comfortably. Hank tries moving his legs up in the well of room near the gas pedal and the brake but Lou sits too firmly in his lap to let it be done. Both are skin to skin, Lou so close to him that Hank can practically hear the slamming of his heart in his chest as he's fucked.

 

Hank tries regaining control of the situation when Lou's moving too fast, at least to him. The fall and rise of his body is all too urgent to drag this out as it rightfully should be. "Slow down, slow down for me." He cups Lou's ass, meets each thrust he plans with a carefully planned one of his own. From there, it's everything Hank ever envisioned for the both of him. Like he ever had this in the records book, but as for his previous notions as to how Lou performed in the sack, he can't say he's disappointed.

 

He's honest to God thrilled.

 

The calm down process is a messy one. Lou ends up coming between them both with what sounds like a sob of blessed relief. Hank bites down on the edge of his jaw when he too meets his release, stopping in his tracks so that he may clutch Lou ever closer to him. After, Lou rises up to let Hank tuck himself back into his slacks, drags the jacket from the passenger seat over so that it can drape across his lap. As best as two grown men can do Hank reclines the driver's seat back to hit the bench seat behind them, lets Lou settle between his left side and the door, huddled up close with one of his hands across Hank's middle for leverage.

 

They don't say much of anything, can't think of a single idea to discuss. Around them the roar of the car's heater drones, the scratch of snow on top of the car and against the windows picks up in tone. When Lou's breathing calms down, settled inhales and exhales deepening as he begins to fall asleep against Hank, Hank figures now he stands by his earlier statement firmer than ever. He'd rather have Gerhardt blood under his fingernails than Lou's any day, unless they're together like this.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sorry and neither are they


End file.
